


Campfire Songs

by Toastybird



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Other, fluff I think?, had a headcanon the other day that Barney could play guitar and now here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastybird/pseuds/Toastybird
Summary: A few days after leaving on the train out of City 17, Barney reflects on some things around a campfire.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Campfire Songs

Barney's fingers strummed rhythmically over the strings of the old guitar as he sang in a low, soft tone. The sound drifted upwards into the cool night air, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and flowing with the lazy breeze that weaved gently through the trees. 

His voice, a bit rough and somewhat hoarse, rose and fell with each word and verse. It had been so long since he'd last been able to sing. Though his throat wasn't quite used to it yet, the hum of his own voice reverberating through his chest brought warmth to his soul.

Six days. 

It had been six days since he'd boarded that train and left them behind. One last wave, one last phrase shouted over the din of the railroad, and then that was it.

Six days, since the Citadel had fallen with a flash of lightning brighter than the sun itself and a shockwave that had nearly knocked him off his feet even this far away.

In that moment, as he'd watched that towering monolith of oppression crumble into nothing more than smoking rubble, he'd been thinking of them.

His hand slid up and down the neck of the guitar as he formed a major chord and paused to allow the fading of the notes to harmonize with the main melody. A few people had begun to gather around, drawn by both the welcoming heat of fire and his bittersweet song.

Back in Black Mesa, when was first hired, he'd had a surprising amount of free time. When he wasn't guarding something, he didn't have anything to do except wander the halls aimlessly trying to look busy. So, although his supervisors tended to frown on it, he'd often slip out and head back to his dorms until it was time for his next shift. It wasn't like anyone would catch him in the act anyway - when you give everyone the exact same uniform and helmet, everybody becomes anonymous. All he had to do was get back on time. 

Of course, he'd failed miserably at that quite a few times. Barney had never been the most punctual of people, and it had only gotten worse once he'd decided to learn to play a musical instrument on a whim. Surely a couple hours between shifts was plenty of time to practice, right? One cheap guitar and a couple of used books was all it took to crush his already poor time-management skills into dust.

Gordon had always chided him on this, and he'd always quipped back with a retort. Yeah, sure, 'Look who decided to show up today!' says the man who always came in at least a half and hour late. At least Barney had a legitimate reason. More or less legitimate, anyway.

The fire was hot through his thick coat as he continued to play, noticing now that he'd drawn a small crowd of tired rebels. Some swayed back and forth with small and tired smiles, others softly hummed along, and still others sat silently, staring deeply into the dancing flames. Though the external heat was beginning to make him sweat uncomfortably, the warmth he received from seeing them happy and relaxed for the first time in a long time was something he wouldn't trade for all the comfort in the world.

For so, so many long days his uniform had weighed him down like a ton of bricks.   
Both Eli and Kleiner had told him it was for the best, that they _needed_ that inside information, but nothing they could tell him would ever reassure him. Nothing could make him feel better, even though logically he knew they were right. Even Alyx had looked up to him for what he did for them.

The second he pulled off that mask though, the second he spoke his old friend's name for the first time in years, the second he knew he was alive, he knew it had been worth it.   
Was that so selfish of him?

And yet, he'd seen the look in his friend's eyes in that moment. Relief, undeniably, but lying a little deeper he could see just a hint of concern brewing within. Confusion. Could it have been distrust? Perhaps that was Barney's own guilt chiming in, but it wasn't unlikely, all things considered.

That joke about his 'beating quota' had been a bit too much, hadn't it? Hit a little too close to the truth, and he knew Gordon could sense it. He'd always been able to know things like that, to see clearly past whatever jokes and fake happy-go-lucky mood Barney was using as a disguise to hide something worse, something uglier.

He'd never talked openly about the things he'd been forced to do. But he knew they knew.   
It felt like being stabbed with a searing hot poker every time they forgave him. Praised his 'bravery.' By all rights they should hate him, shouldn't they? But they didn't. Instead, they cheered for him.

The mask he'd had to wear had become almost a comfort him, a strange bastion of safety. It could hide his face and make his deeds anonymous. Barney realized this, and he hated it. It filled him with self-directed disgust to even consider it. He wasn't one of _them;_ he would never, ever be. But when he'd taken it off for the final time and crushed it under the heel of his boot, it was undeniable he'd felt something. It wasn't something he had consciously thought; rather, a flash of instinct that had been hammered into him over the course of months and years.   
It was fear. Now everyone could see him in broad daylight. Though he knew he had no reason to fear, the burden of guilt remained.

But none of that mattered now, did it? Those days were far behind. Blown out in a puff of smoke. Change was coming, for better or for worse. 

Their faces were still etched into his mind, clear as day as he'd leaned against the railing of the train and watched their figures grow smaller and smaller until they were nothing but two invisible specks in the distance. After the fall of the citadel a burning question still remained in his mind, one he dreaded he may never have the answer to.

With one last fading word and a final chord, he finished the song. Cheering and clapping erupted from around the fire - startled, he grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. Nearly everyone was listening now. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even noticed.  
"Aw, thanks." His fingers traced the outline of the frets on the neck of his guitar. "I'm glad ya liked it."  
A voice shouted from the back. "Play something else!"

Why not?

The cool breeze ruffled his hair as he lowered his hands to the instrument once again. He plucked one string, then another, then hummed quietly, searching for a familiar melody.  
As his voice settled on a tune, his fingers took on a mind of their own. He began to relax his shoulders and lean into the music.

He didn't know where they were. He didn't know what had happened to them. He didn't know if he would ever see any of them again, and the thought made his heart ache.

Something told him deep inside that he would, though. And maybe it _w_ _as_ nothing more than wishful thinking, but wishful thinking seemed to be the cornerstone of hope.

This song was apparently more popular. Rebels began to sing along and the sound rose higher and louder in the air. It wasn't perfect. Not everyone could sing, but they sure did it anyway. It was flawed, off-tempo in parts, and less-than-harmonious, but it carried with it on the wind the sound of light found even in the darkest of times.


End file.
